Chapter 2
“Let’s just make sure they don’t find out!”
The countess of Roan glared at her husband with bloodshot eyes.
“My daughter is weak and hasn’t even officially debuted in society yet! That means hardly anyone knows her face. And besides, isn’t it enough if she just survives the first night?”
By “survive,” she meant something else entirely—death. So far, twenty brides had been sent to the northern castle, and not a single one had survived the first night.
“Lanya.”
The countess turned to Lanya and smiled in an unusually gentle manner.
“You will go in my daughter’s place as the bride.”
Her eyes glittered with something close to madness. Sensing the threat, Lanya instinctively stepped back.
The bride of a murderer?
It was absurd. Rumors claimed he devoured the living—crushed flesh and chewed bones.
“No, I don’t want to!”
She had to run.
“I don’t want to go—!”
As she turned to flee, the head maid, following the countess’s signal, struck Lanya on the head with a club. There was a dull thud, and darkness swallowed her vision as she collapsed.
“Ugh….”
Lanya woke with a pounding headache and clutched her head.
‘Where… am I?’
She looked around dazedly. A luxurious bedroom greeted her. The Roan household lived far beyond its means, decorating every room with lavish furnishings. This room was less extravagant than the main estate, but it still exuded a refined elegance. It felt like something out of a fairy tale.
Thinking she might be dreaming, she tried to get out of bed—but her foot caught in the hem of her dress, and she tumbled down.
“Ugh!”
Rubbing her aching backside, she noticed something: a white lace dress of high quality. It wasn’t the rough maid’s uniform she usually wore, but the kind of gown only nobles wore.
“What… what is this?”
Confused, she lifted the long sleeves, unable to see her hands.
Then the memory returned.
‘Lanya, you will go in my daughter’s place as the bride.’
Her face went pale.
So this really was the place of the murderer…?
The countess had said she would send Lanya as a substitute bride for the murderer. Lanya had tried to escape but had been struck down by the head maid. That meant this place must be the northern castle—home of the so-called murderer. No, it wasn’t just a possibility. It was certain.
Terror overwhelmed her, and tears threatened to spill.
She couldn’t die as the murderer’s bride.
Not like this.
She had survived so much. Countless times, she had come close to death—but she had endured. She had survived, clinging to the hope of meeting the one who had once saved her from misery. She couldn’t die so meaninglessly now. She couldn’t be killed by a murderer.
Wiping her tears, she forced herself to stand.
I have to get out of here!
Gripping the hem of her cumbersome dress, she hurried toward the bedroom door. She pulled the handle—but it wouldn’t open. It only rattled. It was locked.
Biting her lip in anxiety, she noticed the window.
A window…!
She rushed toward it. Thankfully, it opened. The problem was that the drop was so high she couldn’t even see the ground.
Her stomach lurched. The wind was strong, making her hair whip about and her body sway. But she had to escape. She needed something like a rope….
“Don’t tell me you were planning to jump.”
A voice came from behind.
Startled, Lanya slipped and almost fell out the window.
At the last moment, the man grabbed her waist and threw her back inside.
Thud!
She landed hard on the floor. When she looked up, she saw him staring down at her with a pale, cold expression.
Black hair contrasted with a ghostly complexion. He was undeniably handsome—but to Lanya, his beauty only heightened the danger she felt.
She recognized him immediately.
The infamous murderer—the Grand Duke of Berkian.
“Mu—murderer…!”
She almost said the word, but clamped her hand over her mouth too late.
The grand duke had already heard.
“Murderer….”
He murmured softly, a cynical smile touching his lips.
“Yes, I suppose I might be. After all, you are a bride sold to such a murderer.”
“P-please spare me!”
Lanya threw herself to the ground, confessing everything.
“I’m not really a count’s daughter. I’m of the lowest class! Look—this! I was once almost sold to slave traders!”
She hurriedly rolled up her sleeve, revealing scars that looked like the marks often seen on slaves. No matter how frightening he was, he was still a grand duke—royalty of the empire.
“These were made by slave traders in the past!”
Surely he wouldn’t take someone as lowly as her as a bride. She didn’t even know if confessing the truth would free her, but it was all she could do—explain that she was a victim of substitution and beg for mercy.
“I didn’t come here of my own will. The young lady ran away, and I was sent in her place.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she pleaded.
The grand duke watched her silently. Then, to her shock, he knelt and reached toward her.
She flinched and squeezed her eyes shut—but he only wiped the tears from her face.
Slowly, she looked up.
Up close, he didn’t resemble the monster of rumor. He looked human. And beautiful—especially his eyes.
In an emotionless voice, he asked:
“Are you begging me to kill you? Simply being sent here as a bride is an offense against nobility. On top of that, you have betrayed your master.”
Betrayed…?
Was betrayal not the act of breaking trust or loyalty? Though she had been born low and ignorant, she understood what betrayal meant. That was why she could not accept that she had betrayed them.
She had served as a maid, even if they never treated her as human. They beat her. Starved her. And now they had sent her as a sacrifice in place of their daughter.
Had she truly betrayed them? She had performed her duties faithfully despite their cruelty. And now she had been sent to die.
Why should she owe them loyalty?
Biting her lip until it bled, she clenched her trembling hands.
The grand duke watched, then smiled faintly.
“You look resentful.”
A surge of emotion made Lanya glare at him, momentarily forgetting who he was.
“Even if I am low-born, I am human! I served my masters with everything I had, but they never treated me as a person. Still, I did my best. And this—this is the result. So don’t call it betrayal!”
The grand duke regarded her as if she were some strange creature—trembling yet shouting her grievances.
He had faced countless brides before, but none had reacted like this.
Most either screamed prayers—“Demon, begone!”—or trembled in silence. But this bride… no, she wasn’t truly a bride. Her master had disguised a slave as a bride and sent her in place of his daughter.
